


Samson

by Kauri



Series: NSFW Mini-Headcanons [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: NSFW, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/pseuds/Kauri
Summary: Little remains of Samson that isn’t sharp.





	Samson

**Author's Note:**

> Here's me realizing that I've only been posting this series on tumblr.  
> -  
> A weekly posting of Dragon Age LIs, Companions & NPCs that are meant to be short character explorations that are at least 72% porn, and a challenge to see if I can write less than 1k of words per one-shot.

Little remains of Samson that isn’t sharp. His eyes are hard. His smile is all teeth. And when he takes you to his bed -- or against the nearest wall -- he is all jagged edges and desperation. You come away from every illicit encounter with finger shaped bruises along your neck, and bite marks along your ass.

He doesn’t hold back. Doesn’t know how anymore. _Restraint_ was not a quality in high demand when he was red.

But it’s that lack of boundaries, that open, and _raw_ need that draws you to him -- as much as the hot flush of his desire, huge, and hard, and high against his belly. Unapologetic. Bold. A strange kind of honesty. In a world of half-lies and tangled grey choices, he doesn’t pretend. He tells you he wants to _get a little dirt on the Maker’s chosen. See if you can stay so shiny._

He knows he’s the villain in this tale. You know it too. But it doesn’t matter as much as it ought. He offers you _truth._ And even when it’s ugly, you find it’s nearly as addictive as that harsh Marsher growl.

The first time, you expect it to be rough -- and it is. His body is pale, and scarred, and _strong._ That strength runs like an undercurrent through every touch. Part threat, part promise. You expect to hate it, too. But he kisses you like you’re the last good thing he’ll be allowed in this life. And he swallows the sounds you make as though he’s eating joy.

So you fall into his arms, again, and again. Until you can no longer pretend -- _he_ never pretended, after all -- that _he_ isn’t, that _this,_ isn’t something you can escape. You tell him so. He laughs, that sharp grin split _wide,_ and presses you to the floor. And then he _shows_ you. Fucks like he’s trying to ruin you. Blunt fingers against all your soft parts, teeth fixing on the back of your neck. Bruises born of pleasure bloom against your skin. _More. Harder._ You’re not sure if you ask for it, or if he’s just telling you that’s how it’s going to be. But the raggedness of his touch, and that harsh, Marsher growl in your ear, spurs you to heights a handsbreath away from the Maker. You come. _Hard._ Gasping. Limbs thrown wide, as he finds his own end.

It isn’t until afterwards that he’s able to show what tenderness is left to him. Sometimes in tears. Sometimes in anger -- at the world, at himself.

Sometimes in promises that neither of you are sure he can keep.


End file.
